Two weeks later the man who had humiliated Pug Parsons in Juniper halted his horse on the flat top of a mesa and surveyed the surrounding expanse. The railway, by a devious route, had brought him part of the journey across Arizona, but for the last four days he had been riding, and knew that he must now be nearing his destination. The view was wild but imposing. Great ridges of rock, spired and pinnacled, their bases buried in primeval forest, were on every side, and between them were savannahs of rich grass in which the tiny lakes and streams gleamed like silver in the sunlight. Through a gap in the hills the wayfarer caught a glint of yellow, and knew it for a desert. There was no sign of human habitation, and indeed he had seen nothing of the kind since he had left Doverton in the early morning. The sky was a vault of palest blue, and with no movement in the air, the vertical rays of the mid-day sun had almost the heat of flames.
'Shore is a fierce bit o' country,' the cowboy mused. 'If half I've heard is correct, I'm due for a right interestin' time.'
For though he had talked but little, the mere mention of his objective had produced raised eyebrows and other symptoms of surprise, and this had become more marked as he proceeded. A citizen of one town he stayed at even expressed his wonder verbally.
'I ain't presumin', stranger, but whyever should yu wanta go to Windy?' he asked. 'On'y fella I ever knowed who visited there was bored to death.'
'Too slow for him, huh?' the traveller suggested.
'No, too fast--it was a .45 slug what bored him,' chuckled the speaker. 'The drinks are shore on yu, stranger.'
The cow-puncher laughed and paid; he had been fairly caught. But beneath the surface he sensed a serious undercurrent, an unwillingness to talk about the town to which he was travelling. The keeper of the hotel at Doverton had flatly refused to answer his questions.
'Windy is bad medicine,' he had said. 'King Burdette has a long arm an' a heavy fist at the end of it.'
Sudden smiled grimly as he recalled the remark; the fact that Doverton was no less than forty miles from Windy suggested that Burdette was an opponent to be approached warily. Beyond the bare statement that there was a mess to be cleared up, and that it would require a man with all his wits about him, some good luck, and an outstanding ability to take care of himself, the Governor had told him little. As a man will, who spends long, lonely hours with a horse, he confided in the animal.
'Dunno what sorta hornets' nest we're a-steppin' into, Nig,' he said, 'but there's one way to find out. G'wan, yu cinder from hell.' The big black swung its head round, lips lifted to show the strong teeth, and the rider grinned sardonically. 'Playin' yu'd like to bite me, huh? Yu old fraud,' and he stroked the sleek neck.
The trail, which might have been no more than a runway for wild creatures, dropped down in a zigzag from the mesa and plunged into a big patch of pines. Pacing leisurely beneath the pillared arches of the forest, the puncher's thoughts reverted to the little man who had sought him out to send him on this errand of danger. He knew that by doing so Bleke had saved him from a worse fate. Saddled, unjustly, with the reputation of an outlaw, hunted in certain parts of his own country, Texas, for offences of which he was not guilty, it would have taken little more to turn him into a desperado. Bleke had known it. Sudden himself knew it, and was conscious of a sense of satisfaction in being definitely arrayed on the side of law and order; though, as a young man will, he affected a quizzical disdain, even to himself.
'We're respectable folk now, Nig, workin' for Uncle Sam, an' we gotta be good,' he drawled. 'No more hellin' round, no fights--the soft answer that turneth away wrath for us every time; we gotta let ourselves be tromped on, yu sabe?'
The animal shook its head and whinneyed softly.
'Makes yu laugh, huh?' the rider continued. 'Well, I don't blame yu at that, but allasame, if I catch yu chewin' up another gent's hoss I'll just naturally larrup the linin' outa yu.'
Emerging from the pines, they came upon evidence of civilization. Facing a small valley was a one-storeyed log-cabin, with a truck-patch and rude corral. Lounging in the doorway was a man of middle age, whose sullen eyes surveyed the intruder curiously. Chewing on the stem of a corncob pipe, his right hand was behind the door-jamb, and Sudden guessed that the fellow had a weapon handy; he was clearly suspicious of this capable-looking stranger who reined up and greeted him with a grin.
'Howdy, friend! Might this be the way to Windy?'
'It might, for a man who ain't in a hurry.'
'So I've strayed some, huh?' the rider smiled. 'Well, I got all the time there is.' His gaze took in the slovenly building, noted the half-hearted attempt at cultivation and the few cattle feeding in the valley. 'Yu shore picked a nice location.'
The sneer on the man's face deepened. 'Place is all right if a fella was let alone,' he said; 'But what's the use o' gettin' ambitious when yo're liable to be run off any time? `Nesters' ain't popular in these parts, nor in any others fur as I can make out,' he added bitterly.
'If I'd filed on a bit o' land like this it'd take a lot to stampede me,' the puncher stated.
'Mebbe, an' then again, mebbe not,' the homesteader retorted, his querulous voice rising. 'Buckin' the Burdette boys ain't paid nobody yet.'
Ere Sudden could reply to this a horseman galloped round a bend in the trail just beyond the cabin and pulled his pony to a slithering stop in front of them. He was young--little more than twenty--with a freckled face and blue eyes which had a frosty glint in them as they rested on the nester.
'What yu belly-achin' about the Burdettes for, Fosbee?' he asked, and when the man did not reply, he asked, 'Who's yore friend?'
'Dunno,' Fosbee said sulkily. 'Stopped to ask the way to Windy.'
The young man turned an interested gaze upon the puncher, who, lolling easily in his saddle, returned it with amused indifference. A likeable enough youth, he decided, but somewhat over-imbued with his own importance. He got out the makings, rolled and lighted a cigarette, waiting for the question he knew would come. The freckled one fidgeted with his reins for a moment.
'Yo're a stranger here?' he said.
Sudden smiled. 'Someone musta told yu,' he replied with gentle sarcasm.
The young man flushed. 'What's yore business in Windy?' he asked bluntly.
The cow-puncher was still smiling. 'Well, it ain'tadvertisin',' he replied meaningly.
The snub brought the hot blood again into the boy's cheeks, and for a moment it seemed that he would give vent to his anger. Then, with a little lift of the shoulders, he swung his pony round and spurred away without another word. Sudden watched him disappear with a speculative eye, and then turned to Fosbee, whose countenance was more lugubrious than ever.
'Member o' the Royal Family, I take it,' he said, and seeing the man did not get his meaning, he added, 'One o' the Burdettes, huh?'
'Yeah, that was Luce--they called him Lucifer 'count of his havin' a red head like a match,' Fosbee explained. 'An' he's the best o' the bunch, though that ain't sayin' a lot.'
'He certainly don't actually despise hisself,' the puncher grinned. 'How many o' the tribe is there?'
'King Burdette an' three brothers--use ter be five in the family, but the Ol' Man got bumped off three-four months back; shot from cover, he was, over on War Axe Ridge. Nobody knows who done it, but the Burdettes blame the Purdies--there's allus been bad blood between 'em. If I was young Kit Purdie I'd leave the country.'
'Folks would take it he was guilty,' the puncher pointed out.
'Mebbe, but he'd be alive,' the other said dourly. 'Yu mark my words, the Burdette boys will get him.'
Sudden changed the subject; he did not want to betray more than the natural curiosity of a stranger in local affairs. 'What chance for a cow-wrastler around her?' he inquired.
'Middlin' slim,' was the reply. 'There's the Circle B --that's Burdette, the C P--Purdie's ranch, an' the Box S --a small one owned by Slype, the marshal, who's too mean to spit. Purdie is yore best bet; he's a white man.'
'Yu don't recommend Burdette, huh?' the puncher smiled.
'If yo're quick with a gun an' ain't pertic'ler, yes,' retorted the other. 'I'm takin' it yo're honest.'
'Thank you,' the visitor said gravely. 'Likely I'll go gravel-grubbin' for a spell; I'm told there's gold around here.'
'That's so--Windy started on a gold boom, but it soon petered out. Yu can get `colour' a'most anywheres in the sand o' Thunder River, but that's all yu do get. There's fellas still pannin' an' pocket-minin' the slopes o' the
